


As Real As This Unbidden Touch

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dirty Talk, Fanart, M/M, Mildly Competitive Bedroom Silliness, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pillow Principality Aziraphale (Good Omens), Rimming, Service Top Crowley (Good Omens), Teasing, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Wet & Messy, With Actual Pillows
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:02:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22123015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Alternate Title: They're Gay Men Who Have Gay Sex, NeilAn ongoing series of NSFW art pieces, some of which may be accompanied with a quick dash of prose.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 110





	1. Chapter 1

Crowley was trembling, he knew, if only because of the way the chattering of his bones and the oversensitive tensing of his skin was shaking its way into Aziraphale and echoing back into him through every point where they touched. He was still dutifully moving, his spend now leaking out of Aziraphale with every messy, frictionless thrust that went straight to Crowley's teeth like a strike to the humerus, and it took all his willpower to keep his hand around Aziraphale's cock steady in its movement and not let it imitate his staggering, canting hips. He'd made it to his end, now everything in him was drawn together in an aperture of focus, a lens locked on the task of getting Aziraphale to his own, bringing him over to join him.

Bless him but did his angel love to _savor_. He loved to draw himself out, pull the thread as thin as it would go before it snapped, and this wasn't the first time Crowley found himself wishing he could remember some of those tricks now so he could still be here with Aziraphale, still careening towards orgasm together, but it wouldn't be long now and then they could try for another. Aziraphale's breathing was getting faster, his little gasps growing louder and ever more staccato, and Crowley adjusted his strokes to match. 

"That's it, Crowley, just like that my dear, keep — _ah!_ — keep going, I'll be with you so soon. You're so perfect." 

Perhaps it was the bedside lamp, or perhaps it was only natural for an angel's eyes to shine with so much adoration and gratitude that it poured over and manifested as actual light. Either way, those words and that look on Aziraphale's flushed, glowing face drove an ache into Crowley's heart that subsumed and overtook even the harshest of the prickling in his skin.

" _Angel_ ," he rasped, voice lost to the desperate tenderness spurring his movements.

It found him the strength to drive his hips hard into Aziraphale just once more, deep enough and angled to pin his prostate and keep pressing in, the pressure on it going straight to Aziraphale's cock, making it twitch and jerk in Crowley's hand, and finally, _finally_ , with the sweetest cry that Crowley could recall since the first night they spent together, Aziraphale came.

The first touch that Crowley registered afterwards, senses returning from his own long-overdue aftershocks and a few vicarious ones from Aziraphale, was the feather-light brush of knuckles along his cheek. 

"My _darling_ ," Aziraphale said, thumb tracing up Crowley's brow to his hairline, catching a bead of sweat on one of the locks stuck to his forehead. "Thank you. How does it get more marvelous every time? Thank you so much."

"Nothing to thank me for. Like staying put at dinner while you finish dessert, this is an easy one. Literally my pleasure." Crowley shrugged, even as he felt his eyes rebelling and doing that damn soft thing that Aziraphale always cooed over. Especially when the upturned eyebrows got involved. "S'nothing, angel."

"Oh, but it's _everything_ , Crowley." The hand stroking Crowley's forehead shifted to cup his jaw, pulling him down into a kiss that pressed their bodies flush together, hot stickiness trapped between their bellies. It occurred to Crowley to maybe pause so he could clean up, but the thought was quickly swapped out on his priority list with Aziraphale's lips, kissing him again, and again, and _again_. Cleanup later.

"I love you so much, I fuss and fret sometimes about where to put it all," Aziraphale murmured against Crowley's lips, some moments or perhaps an hour later. It was always hard to keep track. "You really are so good to me."

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Thinking about it in this light, the association between Crowley and delicious, tempting fruit made _perfect_ sense.

The apple v. pomegranate debate and other semantics aside, the point of order here was the cockhead. Apocryphal wisdom had something about how if you knew the color of a man's lips, you could palette-match his arousal, and Aziraphale had sucked enough cocks in his time to confirm that that wisdom, though not 100% reliable, bore fruit more often than not. As if he hadn't _already_ had enough trouble with those berry-red lips of Crowley's that seemed to be trapped in a perpetual pout because that was what apparently passed for _surly_ and _unapproachable_ these days. 

Not that any of this was an especially dire concern now that the temptation question was long since retired and Crowley and his gorgeous lips and gorgeous cock were unequivocally his, any and all judgment be damned, but it was the type of reminiscent musing that Aziraphale still liked to indulge in from time to time.

Besides, if Crowley was going to go around menacing and swapping out produce labels at the supermarket "for old time's sake," then for old time's sake Aziraphale could retort with a few heavy-handed fruit metaphors of his own to tide him over until they were home and Aziraphale could get his favorite nectar into his mouth again. 

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

Everywhere except in bed, Crowley took immense pride and joy in the fact that Aziraphale could plead for something with just a _look_ , and he could both interpret and deliver on that plea without breaking a sweat. If he was honest, he enjoyed that quite a lot _in_ bed as well, it was just that getting to hear Aziraphale talk dirty was a special opportunity he hated to pass up, and one can't talk dirty when one's communicating exclusively through puppy dog eyes. 

Aziraphale, for his part, had nothing _against_ talking dirty as it were. Goodness knows he loved hearing it from Crowley, and there was certainly a nice thrill rendering Crowley breathless with lurid descriptions of how much he loved cock in his mouth and come in his ass and just how hard and deep he liked to be fucked. Sometimes at Crowley's request he'd even dust off some stories about previous lovers, the men who'd shown him the myriad pleasures Earth had to offer, and those were always some fond and delightfully filthy memories to recount indeed. Even so, there was nothing quite like the silent give-and-receive of the way he used to always ask for favors without ever quite asking, and how Crowley indulged him so beautifully and faithfully every time, and in Aziraphale's book they had just barely scratched the surface of applying that to the bedroom before Crowley evidently got bored of it and skipped right to having Aziraphale narrate all his wants instead.

Those who are following along may already see the conflict here. 

As luck would have it, we happen to have here an angel and a demon already quite well-versed in arbitrary conflict, and the resolution thereof. It was all about turning it into a game. 

* * *

"Alright angel, what's next?"

Crowley was stretching, massaging out the ache in his thighs from riding Aziraphale and then fucking him in such quick succession. When he'd said they were going to spend the whole day in bed together he'd meant it. No reason to tap out in the fifth hour. 

Aziraphale was splayed out on his belly, wriggling ever so subtly against the sheets, getting hard again while he finished off the chocolates Crowley had fetched for him at the start of their little break. He looked over his shoulder to see Crowley sprawled against the headboard, still rubbing at a leg with one hand and stroking his cock with the other, working himself hard again as well.

Setting aside the chocolate box, Aziraphale rolled himself closer to Crowley, tracing a finger delicately up through the auburn hair on Crowley's thigh, then along his cock to settle over his hand.

"Look at you, giving and giving."

"And I have plenty more to give, angel. Just need to know what you want next."

Aziraphale looked thoughtful for a moment, then hitched a leg up, letting his hand that wasn't currently on Crowley's cock wander up the back of his own thigh to grasp an ample buttock, working it back and forth. The obscene noise of the come already inside and leaking out of Aziraphale had Crowley's eyes locked on his dripping, fucked-out hole. No hiding from temptation now that Aziraphale had spread himself wide. Crowley gulped.

"I thought perhaps," said Aziraphale, casual as anything, "I might leave it up to you. So if you have any _ideas_ right now, by all means."

Crowley tilted his head. So this was his play.

"Not how this works." Crowley's voice was not quite a growl, but sidling up towards one with a properly fiendish grin. Aziraphale answered it with a coy smile, eyes soft and wide. He let the fingers gripping at the space between his own cheeks wander a bit further, teasing at his rim, letting his eyelids flutter closed. 

_That_ got Crowley moving. He walked himself closer on his knees, and his long fingers closed quickly but gently around Aziraphale's wrist, replacing the hand gripping his ass.

"Let me," he said, the smallest concession to Aziraphale's tactics. And that would be all he'd get for now.

Crowley spent the next several merciless, teasing minutes just skating his fingertips along the swell of Aziraphale's cheeks, light enough to tickle. His entire body swayed, serpentine as Aziraphale watched him over his shoulder. Crowley would see the angel draw in an anticipatory breath as his fingers ghosted closer to his rim, but he would only give it a circling tap at most before moving away again.

He was sure it was maddening, by the way Aziraphale was flushing and biting his lip, face pressed into the sheets. Crowley was even bold enough once or twice to introduce his mouth, laying kisses and little flicks of tongue all along Aziraphale's lower back and ass, coming so close to letting his lips drift inward, then pulling back. 

"Ready to tell me what you want, angel?" Crowley squeezed the buttock in his hand, giving it the lightest little nip, a lip-locked, sucking kiss with just a faint suggestion of teeth.

And that was all it took. Aziraphale twisted his neck back over his shoulder, eyes locked on Crowley's. They were well and truly pleading now.

"Fuck, Crowley, I need you again, please! I need to be full. Please, Crowley, spread me wide open for your cock, and fuck me hard enough that I _hear it_." 

"Yeah?" prompted Crowley, caressing and kneading both cheeks now, pushing them together and pulling them apart, milking out dribbles of fluid from between them like Aziraphale had done. "You like that? You like hearing my come inside you?"

"Yes, _yes_! I love it so much. Please darling, when you're ready. I'll be sure to tell you what I like most, in _exquisite_ detail, just how you want it." He tilted his hips up further, regaining some control, nudging at Crowley's fingers to guide them inside. "I expect you to replace everything you've just wrung out of me. And then some, if you can."

"As you wish."

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

In the scheme of the eternal lifespan, it wasn't necessarily _that_ big a deal to make all sorts of plans for one of those rare days of English sunshine (the picnic basket was still out on the kitchen counter, wondering where its owners had got to and when they were going out) only to abruptly shelve them for another time in favor of retiring early to bed. There would be other days — the sandwiches would keep, the garden would be yielding more cucumbers and strawberries soon, and barring an unexpected appearance from the Kraken the sea wouldn't be going anywhere.

By far harder to replicate were those little moments that seemed to come together like miracles without any deliberate celestial touch. Tiny understated bits of earthly magic that eluded articulation. Sometimes the late afternoon sun just dappled through so delicately, catching the leaves of the garden before coming to rest on angelic skin. A summer peach that begged to be tasted, then darkened to a plum by the lavish attention and the indigo onset of twilight.

There would be other days. Today there was this. 

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

"Fuck... you really know how to take a cock, don't you angel?"

Crowley's incessant ribald chatter had slowed to a reverent moon-drunk whisper, still just playful enough to avoid falling into the hopelessly, desperately emotional. It was a wonder he still had the brain capacity for any of it. He'd been done in from the moment Aziraphale climbed into his lap, deftly prepared by his own hand, and sank down onto him, a hint of mischief in his eye as he committed to showing Crowley just how expertly he could ride him. And just how much he loved it, moaning the way he would around a forkful of light buttery scallop, bracing one hand on Crowley's chest to lovingly drag his fingers through the bristly hair, calling him _handsome_ and _dearest_ and _darling_ and _my gorgeous man_.

It had become clear from his words and the way his fingers worked inside himself and the way he angled and undulated his hips to guide Crowley's cock just where he wanted it that Aziraphale had done this before, many times before. That was around the time Crowley's brain gave up trying to decide whether he should cry from joy and relief or be helplessly turned on, and simply went with both.

For _so long_ Crowley had worried he was doing something wrong, loving Aziraphale like this from afar and wanting, hoping. There had been a time when he'd pulled himself away so unkindly from his own fantasies, envisioning himself as a seeping tar of corruption, only good for dirtying what was pure, his own pleasurable aftershocks turning to miserable shudders. Knowing now that Aziraphale loved men, had done so freely and of his own will for thousands of years, that Crowley was not altering anything fundamental to his nature by having him like this, that the two of them _matched_ and _fit_ and would never need to be any different... for the first time Crowley felt like the luckiest creature on any of the three planes.

Aziraphale, for his part, just looked down with the glossy pleasure-struck eyes that he was expending a lot of effort to stop fluttering closed. He smiled down at Crowley, a puff of a gentle laugh slipping out through the spaces between the rises and falls. 

"Obviously."

* * *


End file.
